


To the Death

by endlesstalesofwonder



Series: Malec Week 2018 [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Angst, Death, Eventual Fluff, Gladiators, Guilt, Healing, Kill or be killed, M/M, Malec, Malec Week, Malec Week 2018, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Rome - Freeform, Tender - Freeform, colosseum, fighting to the death, gladiator, roman lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesstalesofwonder/pseuds/endlesstalesofwonder
Summary: Alexander Lightwood is the reigning champion of Ancient Rome and recalls those who have fallen before him.





	To the Death

**Author's Note:**

> Malec Week Day 2!  
> Prompt: Ancient Rome
> 
> Enjoy!

The Colosseum was not the place everyone had hoped it would be – especially those were thrown to the pits of poor fate at the base of the arena. Blood stained the past, present, and future of the beloved building, and nothing good would ever come to clean the tarnish of its name and history.

And nothing could help Alexander Lightwood rid himself from the arena either.

Year after year, he was thrown into the arena with hopes of his ultimate death. Scratches, scars, and dark bruises – yes – but he would never allow those blissfully ignorant bystanders enjoy the final moments of his life. In return, each opponent grew in size, strength, and speed.

The first man he had faced was from one of the neighboring cities. He was a large, dark man with a fierce, crooked grin. The large single scar split his face from his left eye to the right corner of his mouth would distract any normal person who would care for that sort of thing. He had earned several cries of fear when he first entered. Alec hadn’t winced in the slightest. The man earned another scar that day, a twin to the one across his face, before Alec’s sword pierced through his heart.

The second was another warrior. He was thinner than the first, with dark hair and beady brown eyes that directed his movements. His weapon of choice was also a broad sword, but was adorned with all the rubies, sapphires, and emeralds he had won in his previous matches. Alec knew this, of course, because the warrior told him. Those gems did little to protect him before he lost his head.

The third and fourth were introduced at the Killer Twins, specializing in throwing knives and weak defense maneuvers. They moved in circles around the arena and gave each other a single nod, tweak of the nose, or hand gesture to signal their strike. The bigger of the pair was more clumsy in his movements and made the entire arena shake in his wake. Alec silenced his thunder by removing his legs. The other, enraged by the death of his brother, grew impatient and uncoordinated, swinging left and right erratically. He lost his arms.

The fifth was the worst. He was a child. He didn’t deserve to be in the arena – none of them truly deserved to be there – but the kid hardly looked like he was fifteen years of age. When he was introduced – _Dante,_ Alec would _never_ forget – his hand shook as he chose the dagger, holding it in his hand like an old piece of meat. Tears stained his freckle ridden face, and nothing could hide the trembling fear raking through his bones as the crowds chanted Alec’s name. The glory and honor was lost that day when it became a madhouse for blood. The chants of Alec’s name turned into _Dante’s,_ then there was sheer screaming for screaming’s sake. Alec would have rathered it be himself. _It would be easy,_ he had told himself. It should have been. It took Alec twice as long to cross through the blood soaked dirt, old pieces of bones turning to dust and spirits restlessly turning over to greet their newest arrival. It took even longer for Alec to grant him the mercy he truly deserved. The sickening crack of his neck would forever haunt his memories – day or night.

There was nothing else that could bring Alec down further, but it took everything he had to bring himself back up again. He fought, and fought, and fought. He didn’t stop to ask for names, or backstories, or why they thought they would win. He simply went through the motions of killing. Again. And Again. And Again.

His blood soaked hands would never be cleaned again.

This year was different. This year was his _final fight._ He fought for his family’s honor – what was left of it. He fought for those who had fallen before him. Most of all – Alec Lightwood fought for himself.

He no longer cringed when his name was called. He welcomed the loud sound of what was his name, screaming, and crying. He carefully chose from the array of weapons along the furthest wall – _the bow and arrow._

He would finish this the same way he started it.

The leader of the arena announced his opponent – the name useless at his point – and the crowd silenced. Alec turned. The sound of his weapon striking the floor was the only thing that could be heard, besides his aching heart.

_No._

His opponent crossed the yard, his weapons already in hand – a thin silver blade, adorned with the rare blood ruby at it’s hilt _._

_No._

His face was half covered. A silk film was pulled up to the bridge of his nose, covering the curve of his sharp cheekbones, thin nose, and full lips that Alec had committed to memory long before he was thrown into the arena.

_No. Please._

All that was left to see was tanned skin – and bright, golden eyes that stabbed into Alec’s chest the moment they ever laid on him.

_I can’t do this._

Alec’s warrior sprinted. The dust of past gladiators stirred at his feet, and his speed made the man appear as though he feet never touched the ground.

_I would never do this to you._

Alec thought he would never see his love again – and now, he wish he never had such an idea. This was not how he wanted it. Alec did nothing – would do nothing – as his lover approached with blade in hand. He did nothing as that blade slid into his chest, beside his heart, and let himself bleed like those before him into the dust.

_Alec._

The dark red spilled. Alec always knew that it would one day.

_Alec._

He hoped that his death meant an end to his family’s suffering, and ill-named dishonor.

_Alec._

The cold touch of death was warm, unlike he had imagined time and time again when he faced a new opponent. It smelled of old wood and sunshine.

_Darling._

Strangely, he was content with the final idea that he would die looking into his lover’s eyes, just as he had finally come alive when he first saw them across the vineyard at his family’s home.

_Alexander._

 

Alec startled awake with a warm palm pressed sharply against his pectoral. Those same gold eyes looked down at him in the dark, and his beating heart eased with a slow, long breath. Tanned fingers brushed over his heart, feeling its beats, quick and sharp, turn slow and harmonious.

“You startled me,” his lover spoke tenderly, rough from only a few hours of sleep.

The sun was rising over the hill, nonetheless, and the liveliness of the morning would soon have the drowsiness retreating. Their small corner of Rome was quiet. Peaceful. The arena was gone, placed far behind them, in both distance and in spirits. Now Alec had the sounds of the Goddess and his love to sooth him into blissfulness.

Alec turned, sweeping Magnus back into his hold and under the wide expanse of his torso. “Sorry.”

His lover reached upwards. The smooth bad of his thumb swept over his cheek, then lip, and then slid down to the puckered skin of the scar that sat an inch away from his heart. Each fleeting touch had his heart clenching, in pain and in sorrow.

“Stop.” Alec snatched that hand and pressed a languid kiss to each finger, then palm, then wrist. “I’m alive because of you.”

“So you tell me,” Magnus spoke slowly. Each kiss Alec planted on him had his eyes dilating that much wider in need.

Alec could feel him.

He pressed a kiss on his temple, the small nook beneath his ear, the crook of his neck. He would _worship_ his lover should he have the time.

Thankfully the sun had just begun to show.

“Shall I remind you just how alive I am?” Alec asked, swiping his tongue across the flat plain of his stomach. The tanned skin hitched, then tightened at the lingering touch. Alec lowered himself to become level with the same hips he wrapped his arms around every morning and every night. He notched one of his lover’s legs over his shoulders while the hot air from his lips blew across the delicate skin waiting between his legs.

“Alexander,” Magnus sighed, arching his hips just enough to get his lips where he needed them. He moaned, low and loud, just as Alec liked it. It became one of his favorite sounds that chased away the nightmares, and mixed with the soft sounds of the Spring air, Alec knew there was no place he would rather be. _Home._


End file.
